


I Tried It On One Time, and It Fit

by dancinbutterfly



Series: Justified [2]
Category: Justified, The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Deputy US Marshal, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Porn, Billy is a Federal Fugitive, Caretaking, Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending, Family Feels, First Love, Forced Prostitution, Goodnight is a Deputy US Marshal, Human Trafficking, Immigration & Emigration, M/M, Military Backstory, Miscommunication, Motels, Names, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Violence, Prostitution, Road Trips, Slurs, Texas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-01 23:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10932231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly
Summary: Billy has traveled so far over the course of his life and encountered so many problems and people, both before and after Goodnight. All of it has left a marks, though few as deep or as profound. All those impressions make him who he is, Goodnight's more than most. He just didn't think that finding him again could, would be what puts him at risk of being destroyed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complete and will be posted over the course of the week as I clean it up. It's one of the rougher and more visceral things I've done in a long time but I'm really proud of it and got a lot out of writing it. We're diving into the dark on this one, yall. Buckle up.
> 
> Thanks as always to Decoy Ocelot for the encouragement and 
> 
> About the Warnings: I didn't click any of the archive warnings or go into detail in the tags because they are primarily referenced from the past and I didn't want to spoil. However, self-care comes first. If you want to know the details, beyond what I put in the tags, go to the chapter titled Warnings. It will be updated as the chapters are posted.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a man who spends most of his life alone and waiting, Billy isn't currently doing very good at waiting, alone.

 

**Rachel:** Got to ask. Why the hat?  
**Raylan:** Honestly? I tried it on one time, and it fit.

\- Justified 1.02 “Riverbrook”

* * *

 

An entire millennia has rolled over since Billy was this nervous. Literally. Last time was 1990-something, a knife dangling firm but loose from his hand the moment before he killed one of _them_ for the first time. The fear had vanished when as his blade cut the man open to pull Yeon-mi out of that fucking stale room, away from those fucking hungry hands.

Now, he’s in the 21st century, in a stale room of his own, waiting for a pair of hands for himself. The feeling that his heart is going to jump out of his chest and run away isn’t something he can cut through this time.

So it’s been a long time since he’s been truly nervous. But worry is a feeling that has been a constant companion his entire life. Fixing that’s easy though. _They_ taught him the hard way during his youth outside of Bukhan; taught him the power of chemicals as a problem solver.

Since he was freed and _they_ couldn’t ever touch his skin again, he’s been able to choose which ones he used. He made a point to stay far away from all the pills, powders, vapors and most of all the liquids that required long thin needles sliding under his skin and into his veins making him cloudy and sleepy and happy and so, so pliable. He prefers the soft fog of smoke or the clean burn of a stiff drink to calm his nerves and get his feet back under him so he can continue the charge forward.

Forward. He was always moving forward. It was the only direction to go because for the most part, there was nothing but devastation behind him.

Goodnight, though, was the one bright spot in the empty night of his history. Like a strange sunrise, he’d come back around and Billy is jittery with excitement at seeing that light again.

So downing a double from the bottle of bottom shelf vodka or lighting the joint in the Altoids case hidden in a sock is not an option. He wants all his senses sharp when that man walks in his door. He craves everything Goody brings him and won't accept feeling it in anything less than crystal clarity.

Goody. Goody. Jesus. Billy hadn’t expected him. He really thought he’d seen the last of Goody when he left Georgia twenty years ago.

He’d had to go. Yeon-mi had seen one of _them_ on her local news. She had been panicked and Billy didn’t know how he'd be there. He couldn’t let the chance to protect his big sister away from _them_ slip through his fingers, not even at the cost of that ridiculous, brilliant, terrifying, beautiful man.

She deserved to be safe. They both deserved to be free. So he’d packed his shit (it was pathetic, just a collection of knives, a half a dozen shirts, a pair of slacks and a pair of jeans, one pair of shoes and the books Goody had checked out from the library) and he’d just-

He’d left Ft. Benning without any hesitation. He’d only paused long enough to leave to leave a note for Goody. Back then there hadn’t been a cell phone number to leave, an address to forward, anything. All he had were words on the back of a receipt for Chinese delivery and hope that someday Goody would forgive him for being such a miserable shit about the whole thing.

And he had. Holy shit, he had. Goody had been the one to find him, to pull him close, to melt into his arms, to ask and pull and beg. It was so old and so new and the old coals of love for him that Billy was never able to fully smoother had roared back to a blaze that was already out of control.

When he has to wait and can’t get buzzed, he sharpens his knives. He really doesn’t like guns. _They_ liked to shove guns in people’s faces before giving orders, rubbing the barrel against skin with instructions murmured like pillow talk to _do as he says, suck a little harder, moan a little louder, clench and tighten up like you like it, pretty boy._ The memories of what _they_ did with guns (and without them) are what remind him to always keep his knives razor sharp.

Billy doesn’t want to look intimidating when Goody shows up, though. Yes, Goody used to tell him that he liked him threatening. “The way you move, Billy, it’s like a leopard or an eagle. Your danger is so stunning I never want to look away.” But that had been twenty years ago. Billy doesn’t know if that still holds true.

Even if it does, he does not want sharp objects lying around when the knock comes. He wants to be able to pull his tall drink of Louisiana ice tea in and fuck him wherever they want, be it the floor, the bed, or the rickety TV stand that has a little paper placard on it declaring that this particular room has free wifi and HBO.

He checks the time again. He focuses on actually opening the different screens on the Apple Watch, just to give him something to do. It isn’t connected to anything, not even the proclaimed free wifi, but it was a gift from Yeon-mi and Jin-sung on his last birthday and on top of telling time in every timezone simultaneously (which has been incredibly helpful), it lets him carry some music around with him without having to keep track of a phone or an iPod.

When he’s finally done, he flips back to central time and tries not to let his anxiety rise. Goody is fifteen minutes late. When it came to appointments, Goody used to think that fifteen minutes early was on time and on time was late. Sure he was late to work but when he has somewhere he has promised to be, fifteen minutes late for him is unheard of. It’s the Army in him, Billy is pretty sure.

When half an hour passes, a familiar despairing doubt starts to creep in. It’s a dark ugly voice that whispers seductive lies into his brain. Everything sounds so true when the doubt tells him, reminds him about the human stains that have been on his skin, the raw messes that have been left in his body, the blood that has dripped from his hands like water.

The despair explains, calmly and rationally, that while Goody might have accepted those ruined pieces of him before, things have changed. He’s changed. He’s gotten so much worse. If Billy can see each crime in the mirror when he shaves in the morning, how can anyone else miss it? Surely, Goodnight got his closure and fucked off back to his real life. A real life is what Billy would want for him anyway - a happy existence where his lazy warrior has a home and a career and a solid stable life that doesn’t blow like the wind based on where his next target from Union Pacific Multinational has traveled for a vacation or been sent for a business meeting, apart from the _them_ and vulnerable.

Before he can fall too deep into the cavern of his own head, there’s a knock on the door, a pause followed by three quick taps, then two long slow knocks and a quick tap. Morse code, Goody had said, when he came up with the idea. “B and G, cher, for you and I.”

When Billy moves the dresser out from in front of the door, undoes the chain, unlocks the deadbolt and pulls the door open, Goody looks like he rode out of hell with demons on his heels. His eyes are bleary with purple bags beneath them and his hair is sticking up everywhere. He must have run his hands through it a hundred times. Billy doesn’t remark on any of that, just steps back and lets Goody in. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did. Like an elephant stenographer up here,” Goody declares, tapping his temple but there’s no humor in it. Okay then.

“For you and I,” Billy offers, a quiet careful olive branch that Goody can take or leave as he chooses.

“Mhm.” Goody turns, slowly surveying the small space. It’s a copy of a copy of a copy of all the small, shitty motel rooms Billy has stayed in over the course of the quarter century and change since he arrived in America. He wonders what Goody is seeing until his stormy blue eyes land on his own face.

“Nothing sticks for me the way we do, mon vainqueur,” Goody declares with a small but heavy sigh.

Billy shivers. He fucking loves it when Goody speaks French to him in any capacity but that name? That’s his favorite. He looked it up in an French-to-English dictionary at one of the public libraries in Ft. Benning a week or so after they started seeing each other. The definitions of “victor” and “winner” “conqueror” and (his absolute favorite) “vanquisher” made him feel taller, broader, bigger, and most importantly stronger than his body and his problems.

Every time Goody said it, he was reminded of that feeling of strength, of the victory and destruction under his control. Not even actual vengeance has made him feel the way Goody does when he calls Billy his vainqueur.

Goodnight’s study of the room continues, his boy taking in the room with that critical sniper’s eye. Billy has to force himself not to cross his arms over his chest. It’s a defensive gesture. He doesn’t need to be defensive. He’s a man who lives life on the offensive, always, and that is the best defense.

With Goody, the best offense usually isn’t an attack. So lets his hands hang loose by his side, like he has a cigarette dangling from each and tries what works instead. “Are you all right?”

Fractured laughter erupts from Goody. It’s borderline hysterical, nothing like the man he met again last night. Billy watches Goody cast his eyes to the ground like it holds the secrets of the universe before dragging a wet gaze up to met his own.

“So no.”

He chokes out “Cher, love, please.” He crumples and Billy gathers him up like he’s never had to before.

When they were young, Goody did this for him on nights that memories of them got too close and crawled into his dreams. He’d never asked questions or wiped his tears away. He’d just hold out his arms and let Billy crawl into him.

Goody wasn’t him, he liked questions, but he liked to be held too so at least he had a place to start. “Hey, Goody, what-“

He doesn’t get to finish the thought because Goody kisses him, hungry and desperate and full of a longing that Billy can actually taste. The moment they part to breathe Goody breathes “I want to see your face,” and okay. That’s enough for him to work with.

They manage to get out of their clothes this time (barely) and on the actual sheets of one of the two full sized beds that fill all the space in the room. Most of Goody’s skin has been baked to a warm tan, just like he’s always was. He supposes the sun doesn’t discriminate between Georgia and Texas and Goody always liked being outside. Apparently the suits aren’t a permanent fixture.

He wants to sit back on his knees and look. He wants to study the changes the years have wrought, what’s the same. He wants to take in everything but the moment he pulls back Goody hooks his arm around his neck and yanks him back down. Billy tenses for a moment, his nerves jangled by the sharp movement but Goody kisses him again, again, again, and he loosens.

“Fuck me to pieces,” Goody says, not bothering to separate their mouths. “Turn me inside fucking out, Billy, please. Please, cher, I can’t- I’m not- Please. Please. Goddamnit, please.” The last words are a sob, his biceps and triceps tightening around his neck and shoulders. Billy doesn’t know what this is about, but he knows this height of desperation. He’s seen it and he’s lived it.

“Okay, Goody.” He doesn’t say that everything’s fine or that he’ll be okay. They could turn out to be lies.

Billy has lied for Goody and he’s refused to answer him, even when faced with a direct question but he’s never lied to him before. He never will. In Bukhan, truth was and is in short supply and his family showed their love by making sure that, at least with each other, what honesty they could have was always shared - even when it was ugly, even when it was painful.

He and Yeon-mi had clung to that brutal honesty when things were at their worst. She had never lied to him - not during the the crossing into China, the trip east to the US in claustrophobic darkness of that corrugated metal shipping container, or the years with them. When they paid the high cost their escape with their bodies and freedom over and over again as slaves (if anyone dared use the term slavery anymore), they had never lied to each other no matter how badly wounded they were or horrific the situation. Including Goody that same policy of truth was one of the only ways he’d been able to come up with to share himself in the way Goody had opened his heart to Billy. It never mattered whether Goody knew it or not.

Billy doesn’t want to hear Goody beg any more so shoving two fingers into Goody’s mouth for him to suck isn’t so much a move as an act of desperation. It seems to work though, thank fuck. Goody moans low around the digits, licking and whining and squeezing his legs around his waist. His teeth nip at Billy’s nails, just a little, a wordless request for follow-through.

Billy got supplies for this at a CVS in Terrell. Optimism didn’t touch what he’d felt under the fluorescent lights. Hope had burned in his chest as he stood in the sexual health aisle. Staring at the shelves of options, Billy couldn’t remember what brand of condoms they’d used or lube they’d liked.

Brand loyalty hadn’t mattered any other time in his life but the months he spent with Goody. He and Yeon-mi and everyone else _they_ owned had been just been relieved any time condoms or slick were supplied at all. When he was on his own, he’d used whatever he could grab in any Planned Parenthood or county health department he could find. Comfort and fit and any of that other shit never mattered so long as his clients wore them and he didn’t have to spend what he earned. 

Sex with Goodnight has been all about pleasure since the first time they touched. Billy wants it to stay that way. It’s why he spent almost forty-five minutes before he picked Trojan, latex, ribbed, extra lubed for her pleasure and a small bottle of something water based with no glycerin or those things that cause cancer.

It’s not the same. He can’t remember what they used when they fucked most of the time. What he remembers most vividly is the time Goody turned up with what he called “something special” from a sex shop over in Columbus. That lube smelled like baked goods and was like thick lotion on his fingers.

More important, the “something special” lube smeared on his fingers had slid into Goodnight’s hole so slick and smooth. Billy’s first thought as he’d twisted his knuckles against Goody’s soft walls was that he probably could fit anything he wanted inside without any resistance. Then, because Goody was Goody, he’d teased Billy as he fingered him open until the words just slipped out. Being around Goody always did that to him, made him say what he never meant to. Goody had proposed some creative experiments to prove the theory (even though a trip to the ER for a pervertible up the ass would’ve gotten Goody DADTed out in a heartbeat). They’d enthusiastically tested exactly how full Billy could stuff his sweet, slutty soldier, as thoroughly as possible.

It had been a good weekend.

Billy wanted this to be good too. He doesn’t know if his preparations have been enough. Not in the face of…whatever the hell this is. There is clearly no way Goody’s going to let him open him the way he’d like, pull him apart, ease this frantic energy. What he can do, what he does, is get himself covered and so slick and wet he’s dripping, as ready as he can with Goody stubborn and desperate, and hope for the best.

“I’ve got you,” Billy murmurs, lips brushing Goody’s cheek - as far back as Goody will let him get. That, at least is true and should give him comfort, what he wants. He kisses the skin between his lips “I got you.”

Goody moans and sucks his fingers deeper into his mouth when Billy pushes into him. He fucks back onto him, hips bucking, even as he pushes up and tries to pull Billy’s fingers deeper into his throat, to choke on them, gag himself.

Billy fucking hates it.

There was a time when sex was used to hurt him so often it was more normal than brushing his teeth. He knows, better than most, that intimacy can be one of the most vicious weapons that can wielded against a person. It’s why he’s never done it and it’s also why he will not fucking let Goody use him to wound himself.

He yanks his fingers free and drops down, trapping Goody’s body with his weight. With his hands free, he’s able to grab Goody’s wrists and pin them down beside his head. Goody is bigger than he is, heavier, but Billy has enough experience and practice to hold him still if he needs to.

Thankfully, he doesn’t. Goodnight goes limp beneath him, the energy draining out of his body if not his eyes.

“If you stay just like this,” Billy says softly, “I’ll give you what you need.”

He twists his wrists in Billy’s grip, testing. When Billy doesn’t give, Goody smiles at him and it breaks his heart. He smiles back anyway and starts to move.

Fucking Goody is like diving into the ocean. It’s different every time, bigger than he is and overwhelming. Sometimes it’s like splashing in hip-deep waters on a sandbar in summer and sometimes it’s like being hit by the ten-footers Jin-sung has been trying to teach him to surf for years.

This time, pinning Goody down and slamming his hips deep and hard, he feels like he’s pulling himself through deep murky waters, in the dark and overcome. Goody’s groans are a roaring in his ears. His body opens up under Billy’s thrusts - taking, taking, taking and still begging for more.

Billy doesn’t get many chances to give so he’s happy to do it. And Goody’s ass is so tight, god, so fucking tight. He squeezes Billy’s cock like he’s trying to strangle him at the same time the heat from his body tries to immolate Billy with pleasure.

But it’s a relief when Goodnight breaks, crying out, heels sliding on the rough sheets as he arches up into his orgasm. He screams something wordless and broken and hoarse before he sags into the bed, head lolling to the side.

“Finish,” Goody mumbles into the pillow. “Cher, finish in me.”

He can’t say no to that. His lower back actually cramps he comes so hard. He doesn’t close his eyes though. He keeps staring at Goody’s face. Fuck. He loved that face.

“I love your face,” Billy says, letting go of his wrists to trace his crooked nose with a fingertip. “I missed it.”

Goody turns away from Billy’s touch. “Get off me.”

Billy blinks down at him. “What?”

“Get the fuck off me,” Goody says, louder this time. He gives Billy’s shoulder a push before saying again, even louder, “Get off.”

Billy moves so fast he almost rolls off the bed. He drops a foot to the floor to save himself then pushes up to a sitting position to look at Goodnight. What he sees is Goody is curled up on his side, naked, and shaking with sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Billy tries. He wants to reach out and touch but he knows not to touch a person breaking like that without invitation. “Goody, I’m sorry.”

“No,” Goody chokes out, covering his face with his hand. “Not this. Not for this.”

Billy nods. It doesn’t matter that Goody can’t see him. “Do you want me to go?”

“Stay,” he gasps.

His other hand shoots out and grabs for Billy. They’re too far apart for him to reach. Billy picks it up and laces their fingers together. It’s better and he squeezes once, just to make sure that Goody knows that Billy isn’t leaving.

Then he waits.

Goody finally collects himself enough to sit up and wipe his face. When he lets go of Billy’s hand, Billy misses it.

He comforts himself with watching Goody pick his way across the room for his clothes, naked. He’s less comforted when he goes beyond pulling on his undershirt and boxers and steps into his pants.

“Goody.”

“Here.” Goody’s tosses him his own pants too. Billy wasn’t wearing anything under them. “We shouldn’t do this naked.”

“Do what? Goody.” He pulls the black slacks on and drops back onto the bed. “Talk to me.”

Goody laughs. “You’re the only person I have ever met, in the whole of my life, who has ever asked me to talk, mon vainqueur.” His smile is lopsided and bright. “God, I do love you still. You should know that.”

“Me too,” Billy whispers, feeling strangled, because he does. He always has.

Goodnight sighs, rubs his face then digs in his pocket. He fishes something out and tosses it on the bed. For a second, Billy thinks it might be his wallet, but when he turns it over, the star of the U.S. Marshal Service is looking up at him.

Oh. Fuck.

He gives Billy a corpse’s grin, curled back lips and bared teeth. “Did you know that the Marshal Service is the primary fugitive investigation agency in this country? When a federal fugitive’s on the loose? We get called in to help - local, state, hell, even other countries on occasion - when there’s a wanted fugitive on the loose.”

Billy’s mouth goes dry. “Goody, I-“

“Don’t. Don’t say anything because once you start lying to me?” He shakes his head.

“I didn’t lie.” He just never mentioned the trail of bodies he’s left in his wake since Jin-sung was born. He’d been too overwhelmed last night and there was no good way to tell someone you’d become a killer since you last saw each other via text.

“But you did do it.”

Billy doesn’t respond to that. He loves him, loves him so much, and probably won’t ever be able to shake that since he hasn’t so far. But Goody’s a fed and he’s an immigrant whore with the blood of rich white men on his hands. He knows that anything he says against him can and will be used against him in a court of law.

“Am I under arrest?” he asks hollowly. Although if his personal mission has to end in anything less than total victory, he supposes there are worse ways than this.

“You should be,” Goody grits out. “You fucking should be. God. Billy, god, what you’ve done-“ He breaks off and looks up at the ceiling. He’s trying not to cry again. “I should call in the locals and throw you in holding until the AUSA can have you arraigned.”

His heart beats so hard, it feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest and across the room to Goody. “Should?”

“Yeah,” Goody says, starting to pace - from the bathroom to the door and back. “I fucking should. I have a job, a damn duty and the damn Feeb are so interested in you they gave you your own nom de guerre and everything.”

“Yeah?” Billy laughs. “What’s the FBI decided to call me?”

“They call you the Assassin.” Billy actually snorts at that and Goody manages to give him a wry look without pausing his pacing. “Their best guess is you’re some kind of corporate hitman spook.” He rubs his hand over his mouth, rubbing his beard. Then he comes to a grinding halt in front of the bed and looks down at Billy with his blue eyes, an ocean during a storm. “But it’s them, isn’t it?

Billy closes his eyes. It was never easy to talk about but Goody had always made him open up, even about them. “You still know me. What do you think?”

““Fuck.” Goody drags his hands through his hair and tugs. “Fuck!” He drops onto the bed and puts his head in his hands. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Billy sighs, carefully reaching out to rest his hand on Goody’s shoulder. Billy feels something like hope when when Goody doesn’t pull away. “That’s about right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are a few short ones that are really pertinent to this chapter. 
> 
>   * Sex trafficking in the US is not people in cages or locked rooms. It's manipulative traffickers getting their victims so scared, loyal, high/addicted, and/ore mentally and emotionally trapped that they don't even try to leave.
>   * Atlanta is one of the largest, if not very biggest, hubs of sex trafficking in the US. Since I'm in the area, I've had a chance to learn about it from APD through my area of study on top fo all the research I've done independently. What I've learned is most arrests are made when known girls are busted at the airport or are tricks arranged online by johns who have no idea the prostitutes don't have a choice are caught in regular hotel and motel rooms.
>   * In the 80s, when Billy and Yeon-mi were being held, things would have been arranged differently because duh the lack of internet requires a whole lot more planning and organizing but I'm pretty sure that the basics would be the same likely, the set-up wise.
>   * I have been reliably informed that the term that South Koreans and North Korean escaped defectors use for North Korea is Bukhan.
> 



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once, a long time ago, a young man picked up Billy up hitchhiking on the side of the road. They were together less than a day but in that time, the entire course of Billy's life is forever altered.
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * **WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS POTENTIALLY UPSETTING SEXUAL CONTENT!** If you are concerned about your self-care, check the warning chapter and know that if you need to, you can skip this chapter and wait for chapter 3 without missing much.
>   * **I EDITED THE LAST CHAPTER TO PUT THE CORRECT REASON BILLY LEFT GOODNIGHT INTO THE LAST CHAPER!** If you don't want to go back and reread, all you need to know is that he left because Yeon-mi, who is settled in California, saw one of them in her city.
>   * This chapter is set in the past and is officially a crossover with Justified. You do not need to know ANYTHING about Justified to read it but the boys from Harlan wouldn't stay out. **Warnings regarding the Justified character and potential triggers are in the end notes.**
> 

> 
> Enjoy! Comments keep me alive <3

Fall - Sometime in the Mid-90s

* * *

_Right after Yeon-mi first settled in La Palma, Billy had gone east. She’d wanted him to stay, to settle but he couldn’t and east seemed like the best way to escape. East and south were as far from Bukhan and China and the places _they_ held the two of them in California and Nevada and other dusty cities he never saw as more than buildings through a window and over hotel balcony railings as he could get. _

_Yeon-mi hadn’t tried to stop him. She’d used some of the precious money she made at the Korean barbecue place that was fine paying her in cash under the table because of her fluent English and her cooking skills and bought him a newish duffle at an Army-Navy surplus store and insisted he stay safe. She’d given him the number for her apartment and the restaurant and demanded he check in twice a week, then let him go. Of all the things he is grateful to his big sister for doing for him, that was the only one he’s never been able to thank her for._

_The closest he can come is to make sure he always hangs onto at least two bucks in change no matter how shitty things get. He's eaten out of trashcans before he spent it so that he could follow through on his promise to call her._

_Of course, just because he uses his last cents to make their scheduled call doesn't mean he tells her that the ride he bummed in Ohio dumped him, broke, at a rest stop in rural Tennessee. The spot was a woody view of a lonely exit on 1-75, a too far south to go back to Knoxville with no gas and too far north to be near a town that was anything more than a cluster of gas stations, Waffle Houses and McDonald’s._

_Money runs out all the time. The only thing special this time is that he isn’t somewhere he could really work - no red light strip with it's little section for boys, no gay clubs or sex stores to cruise. Hell, he he was pretty sure he was even a few days on foot from even the hint of a real truck stop(the kind with where long-haul CDL drivers like to stop and there are rentable showers to use after he distracts a few of them from being away from their wives), and that's if he was lucky. He didn’t want to worry her so he says that he's fine, because he is really, at least at the moment, and starts to walk._

_He’s made it eleven miles and the sun is starting to get oppressively high and hot when a rusty blue truck slowed to a stop beside him. The man inside leans over towards the passenger window is young, close to his own his age with spiky brown hair, and wears a khaki green army jacket. He has smile so huge, straight and white that between his teeth and the reflection on his dog tags, Billy winces._

_“Where you heading, friend?” He drawls in an accent that was thicker and more syrupy than any Billy has heard before. Still, he’s heard enough similar ones on people he met in Cincinnati to know the guy was Kentucky country, all the way, and military to boot._

_That combination might not bode well for him but he's not getting anywhere fast on his own. Billy reaches his right hand into the back pocket of his jeans to palm the knife he'd stolen from a pawn shop in Californa as he approaches the passenger side window. He leans his left elbow on the door and says casually “South.”_

_“Well isn’t that fortuitous,” the man says, his smile growing. "I happen to be heading in that direction myself. If Georgia's to your taste, I reckon I can get you as far as Ft. Benning.”_

_Billy had no fucking idea where that was (besides Georgia apparently) but anywhere was better than nowhere. There would at least be options in civilization. So he shrugs and say “That’ll work.”_

_“Climb on in, then,” the man said, reaching across to pull the manual lock open on the window. “With stops we've got a good five hour drive ahead of us and I wanna get in before it's too late for supper.”_

_For a split second, Billy hesitates. A man like this probably has a gun. No, definitely. He definitely has a gun in the cab, if not on him, but Billy can’t stay here. Steeling himself, he carefully slides his knife out of his pocket, into the wrist of his flimsy jacket behind his back, fights the rusted, loudly protesting hinges to open the door, and got in._

_They're driving all of a ninety seconds before the man takes his right hand off the wheel and reaches over to hold it out to Billy, open and square. “Boyd Crowder, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”_

_Billy looks at his hand, at the threadbare tan knit and brown leather of the bench seat, the faux-wood of the nobs on the radio, the stick shift between them. Just before the pause could be offensive, he shakes it. “Billy.”_

_“Billy.” Boyd repeats. “Just Billy?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“A man with a mononym,” Boyd muses. “Speaks for itself, like Jesus or Buddha.”_

_“Pretty sure both of them have at least two names.”_

_“Do they?”_

_“Most people like to call that guy Jesus Christ, last time I checked.”_

_Boyd’s laugh is lazy and amused. “I think you might be right. Though I do believe his second name would be of Nazareth, although I don’t know what that would be in the Aramaic.” He turns his head and grins that disturbingly straight smile at Billy. “And the other fella? Buddha comma The?”_

_Billy shrugs and looks out the window. He isn’t really a Buddhist. Religion wasn’t encouraged in Bukhan. Why let people partake in the opiate of the masses when loyalty to the Great Leader and the State could supposedly give a person all the same things? His family had been, though, before the war. As a kid, the risk for his parents as government employees was too great so they'd never practiced it but they got away from _them_ , and he’d gone with Yeon-mi to one of the temples in La Palma a few times before he left. He read on his own too, after, trying to see if he could get any of what was taken from their family back. So far, he hadn't, really._

_“Come on now, son. You’ve peaked my interest. You can’t leave me curious and the poor cat dead. Only satisfaction can resurrect that pitiful feline from it's grave and restore it to life.”_

_Billy tilts his head. Boyd talks…a lot. He talks a lot and he expects Billy to keep up. Most people hear his accent and stop trying and the ones that do give up when he doesn't respond with the typical American gregariousness. Boyd doesn't seem to be bothered by either, instead determined to keep the conversation not only moving but mutual. He hasn't really had that happen before. He's finding that he likes it._

_“Siddhārtha Gautama,” Billy says finally. “He was an Indian prince.”_

_“Buddy of mine read a book with that name when we in Iraq,” Boyd replies. “Lots of free time to read when you’re waiting to be shot at or blown up, I can tell you that. Wasn’t by an Indian though. Some Kraut son of a bitch wrote it fifty odd years ago. We went home before he finished it, so I never did get my hands on it.”_

_“You could now.”_

_Boyd smiles again, like that never occurred to him. “Guess I can.”_

_They travel through Tennessee like that, Boyd doing most of the talking with Billy pulling his weight in when Boyd won’t accept anything less. It’s not until they cross the state line into Georgia that Billy realizes that not only is he starting to like Boyd, the man hasn’t tried anything on him. It's bizarre because so far, every man who has picked him up has wanted him to pay for the ride one way or another. Usually another. Once he realizes it, the lack of expectation makes him uneasy._

_He resolves to mention when Boyd informs him that they're taking a detour on the I-285 perimeter highway surrounding Atlanta then up I-85 up to Stone Mountain National Park. Going to a park is a little bit too much like something you'd do with a friend, Billy decides. The thought makes his discomfort grow because he doesn't know what Boyd is but they're not friends. The imbalance is too great._

_He gets derailed when they park and get out. Stone Mountain Billy exactly what it advertised - a mountain that seems to be one solid wall of stone with a huge carving on the side of Confederate soldiers. Boyd leans against the side of his truck and stares up at it, legs crossed at the ankles and arms over his chest. The craftsmanship on the memorial is spectacular but there's something disturbing about the whole thing, an out of place unnatural icon in a panorama of mountain and forest._

_Boyd doesn’t say what they’re doing here, why they came. He just stands quietly, looking. Billy waits beside him and doesn't ask. He learned most of what he knows about American history from watching TV but looking at this is enough to remind him that his knife is still in his sleeve._

_“Why did you pick me up?” Billy asks finally as they stare up at the stone faces of dead killers._

_“It’s a long drive from Harlan to Ft. Benning, Billy No-Last-Name. I figured it'd be nice to have some company. Sides, didn’t have a reason not to.”_

_“So you weren’t looking to have your dick sucked?”_

_Boyd laughs at that, once, short and loud, head thrown back. “Not actively but my friend, I do believe every man alive’s looking for that every minute of every damn day.”_

_Billy shrugs and looks around. There’s a visitor center across the parking lot. He jerks his chin at the small building. “There’s probably a bathroom over there.”_

_That makes Boyd laugh again. “Why Billy, I do believe you’re trying to compromise my virtue.”_

_Billy doesn’t think Boyd has any virtue. He’s been listening to him talk for four fucking hours. He’s been to war. He’s blown shit up. He’s killed people. God knows what else. He also picked Billy up and took him this far and Billy hates having a debt. He wishes he could afford cigarettes because if he could, he’d have one to smoke right now instead of having nothing to do with his hands and nothing to say._

_Luckily, Boyd proves yet again that he can do the talking just fine. “You’re not sucking my cock in a park bathroom.”_

_“Not okay with a guy touching you?”_

_“Not into public displays.”_

_Which is how Billy ends up with Boyd’s cock down his throat as the truck exits 285 and gets back on 75 outh. It’s easy, familiar, a game he knows and Boyd’s nice about it. He pets Billy’s hair like he's a particularly affectionate cat, instead of yanking or pulling or moving his head and he showers him with effusive, creative and profane praise. When he comes, he says someone else’s name (another man’s - Raylan is definitely a man’s name) but he doesn’t swerve into a median or another lane. When it’s over Boyd glances over out of the corner of his eye, smiling with just his lips, real and soft, and reaches out to wipe come from the corner of Billy’s mouth._

_“You’re an interesting man, Billy No-Last-Name.” Boyd muses, fond._

_“Byeung-rok.” Billy says. He doesn’t know why he says it. Only Yeon-mi calls him that, is the only one in the country who even knows it until this moment. Maybe he doesn’t like the way Boyd keeps pointing out that he has no surname, which isn’t true of course. He has a family name, one he’s kept close since he left Bukhan, closer than even this._

_“That’s a mouthful,” Boyd says deadpan. There's light dancing out from behind his eyes though, teasing and friendly._

_Billy knows it’s a joke, one meant with no ill will, but he still sighs._

_“All right, that was in poor taste, I’ll concede that,” Boyd admits with a chuckle. “But it’s certainly better than Mehitabel or Aloysius or some of the other names from round my parts.”_

_Billy shrugs. “Most people can’t pronounce it. I saw this movie about Billy the Kid when I was a kid.”_

_One of their first minders in US liked to watch old Westerns whenever he could and had left a movie on when he left Billy with with his third or fourth john during that first week in the country. The man had let the TV play in the background while he fucked Billy from behind. He had been older, older than his father, with grey hair and huge, horrifyingly strong hands. He'd pushed Billy onto his chest, fucked into him bare with hardly any lube and squeezed the back of his neck so hard he'd cried - hating himself for every tear and hitched sob. He hated everything back then, barely what could be considered a teenager and already mostly dead inside._

_The film was white noise in the beginning, one he couldn't really focus for everything his body was going through. After awhile the john had pulled him back into his lap to lift him up and down on his short, thick, disgusting cock like a doll (because when he was young, Billy wasn't just smaller and weaker; he was light as a hollow-boned bird), and in the new position Billy could suddenly see the screen and hear the dialogue. With something to direct his energy towards beyond keeping his legs from giving out beneath him and keeping himself from being too loud in a bad way (because _they had gagged a girl for that on the trip from China and when accidentally she'd suffocated Billy knew that if he didn't learn to be quiet, it could be him next), the ordeal got just that little bit easier. And then a little more. Once he had a real diversion to help him escape, he'd finally relaxed. His body went pliant, making everything less painful and allowing him to endure the experience with his focus locked the movie._ _

__

_He hadn't understood most of the words but he knew what he was seeing anyway and took comfort in it. Small, scrawny, deadly and charismatic, he'd recognized that Billy the Kid had been someone who lived on his own terms, took no shit from anyone and people feared him. Trapped with a man who saw him as nothing but a living sextoy and held captive by people who would make it happen again and again and again, Billy wanted to have that power and freedom. Desperately._

__

_So a week later, when the first American had asked bothered to ask his name, “one I can fucking say, you goddamn gook,” that had been the one he chose. He'd imagined dragging the asshole behind one of those horses Billy the kid had been so fond of stealing and felt for a few moments felt almost alive._

__

_What he says is, “Seemed as good as anything.”_

__

_“Billy Byeung-rok,” Boyd says, turning the sounds over in his mouth, the country twang and drawl making the syllables sound foreign and sharp when Billy is used to liquidity. “Rock,” he says, the pronunciation just a bit off, English and not Korean. “Like the mountain?”_

__

_“No.”_

__

_“Too bad. Because meeting Billy No-Last-Nameon the side of the road is one thing but Billy Rock sounds like a man I wouldn’t want to encounter in a dark alley.”_

__

_Billy hunches into the door. He’s had to fight more than a few johns who didn’t understand when a transaction was over, cut a some who thought that because he was slight meant he’d roll over and die. He practiced with his knife alone in dark places. He got in bar brawls on the regular so he can stay in practice and hit hard when needed but honestly, he just wants to be left the fuck alone. The man Boyd was describing sounded like someone looking for a fight._

__

_“That’s not who I am.”_

__

_“Says who?” Boyd asks. “You were all on your lonesome out there, my friend. You could’ve told me you were," he tosses his hand dismissively through the pair, "Elmer Montague, creator of the round shoelace, and I’d have had no way to prove you wrong.”_

__

_Billy thinks about that the rest of the drive. He probably should have asked Boyd to leave him in Atlanta. There’s a gay scene in Atlanta. He could make a lot there, enough to stay somewhere with actual beds and showers, enough to get a bike or a car if he’s careful. But Boyd doesn’t pull off his planned route and he’d have to ask him to go into the city. Boyd's been generous, asked for nothing yet accepted the balancing of the debt without comment or question, and Billy finds he doesn’t want to leave just yet._

__

_“Billy Rock huh?”_

__

_“Billy Rock. Billy Rocks. Something to that effect. Billy Stone maybe?” Boyd muses. “I reckon it makes you sound like an outlaw.” Boyd says, grinning out the window. “Billy the Kid was, so you’re on the right track.”_

__

_“And you know about outlaws?”_

__

_“Could say that,” Boyd chuckles, flexing his long skinny fingers on the steering column. “But then, most men trying to get ahead in this world have to be an outlaw of one sort or another.”_

__

_Billy doesn’t respond to that though he’s pretty sure Boyd’s right. He stares out the window as trees rush past for a while. He closes his eyes and drops his forehead against the cool glass when he gets dizzy and says, says, “Billy Rocks.”_

__

_“Hm.”_

__

_“Billy Rocks,” he says again. He opens his eyes, shifts in his seatbelt and even though Boyd’s driving, this time he holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”_

__

_Boyd turns and beams at him. He grips Billy’s hand and shakes it, hard, gripping it tightly. “Mr. Rocks, it is my true pleasure to meet you.”_

__

_Three hours later, Boyd drops him off at what passes for the middle of town in Ft. Benning. It’s another nowhere town but it has stores and bars and restaurants and places where he can probably get backdoor work on top of his regular tactics and that’s enough. He can be Billy Rocks in Ft. Benning and start the next step._

__

_When he climbs out of Boyd’s truck and waves goodbye, he doesn’t know that he’s going to stay for so long. He doesn’t know that catching that ride is one of the best and worst things that will ever happen to him. But how could he? In that moment, he doesn’t know how much of Billy Rocks is going to be built on an Army Ranger named Goodnight Robicheaux._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning for Boyd Crowder:**  
>  On the show, Boyd Crowder is an ex-skinhead who was once the leader a white supremacist organization and blew up a black church(with no one in it). He changed dramatically starting on the 2nd episode of the show but he still can be upsetting to some people. However, according to canon, prior to going to prison(where the Aryan Brotherhood is one of the most powerful gangs) after the army, Boyd wasn't involved in any of Neo-Nazi...anything. When Raylan finds out about this he is surprised and doubtful that it's anything but a ruse to get manipulate his followers, which implies that aside from typical rural institutional racism and ignorance born of lack of exposure to diversity, Boyd was is not a bigoted person. Regardless of what he is or isn't during the series - the Boyd that Billy meets hasn't gotten involved in any of that bullshit yet and does not behave in any white supremacist or jingoistic ways towards Billy. He's just a soldier driving back to base from leave.  
>  **Notes:**
> 
>   * Immigrant communities tend to form ethnic enclaves. The largest Korean communities(by % not #) in the US are in New Jersey and California. I couldn't send Yeon-mi to freaking Jersey. I just couldn't. So I sent her to La Palma, California as it's one of the larger Korean communities in the US and its in the OC ~~bitch~~ and that girl deserves a beach.
>   * Boyd Crowder was born in 1970. He joined the army sometime after turning 19 but soon enough to survive in Operation Desert Storm. I figure we're around 1993/1994 in this moment but I don't want to pin anything down just in case.
>   * Religion in Communist countries is, um, let's say "discouraged". That's at best. In North Korea, most people who are a member of anything often practice at home, in secret. There is a state-sanctioned(not to be confused with official) religion I don't really understand but, yeah no. Religion isn't really something that's viewed well by those running the fascism machine.
>   * The book Boyd mentions is Siddhartha by Herman Hesse. I haven't read it cuz Hesse's writing is not really my cuppa but Boyd's a reader ;P
>   * I live ~25 minutes from Stone Mountain Park. It is, literally, [a giant stone mountain face with confederate generals carved into the side](http://images.boomsbeat.com/data/images/full/7613/1-jpg.jpg) and also miles of forest and protected lands. Events are held there all the time but the park itself has and does HOST the amazing annual [Native American Festival and Powwow](http://www.stonemountainpark.com/Events/Native-American-Festival-and-Pow-Wow) but it's so incongruous I just. Can't. Even. I feel like that sums up the dichotomy of Atlanta for you in a nutshell.
>   * I mentioned, Atlanta's a sex trafficking hub but most of the people trafficked through the city are American girls starting at around ~13/14 along I-285, in the northern county of Gwinnett, which is where Stone Mountain is. However, Billy's case is distinctly different from most of those that go this the area because of his undocumented status(which is a weapon many people trafficked in the US don't have against them) and lack of emotional connections to his traffickers (which is one of the foundations of modern trafficking).
>   * To close on a lighter note - Check out only tangentially related video of Lin-Manuel Miranda and Stephen Colbert rapping about Button Gwinnett, Constitutional Congress Signatory for the State of Georgia (as in Georgia named that county after him cuz he signed the Declaration of Independence) in the musical short [Button](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uhFeQSBZUSk).
> 



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy endures it as Goody questions his motives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* This fucking fic. I don't know what happened but suddenly it grew legs and ran away from me. Thanks for giving it a shot guys.
> 
> Thanks, always, to Decoy_Ocelot for showing up like a champ and fixing my spag disasters. This wouldnt exist with out you.

“They’re a logistics company called Northern Pacific Multinational,” Billy says, back against the wall, legs stretched out on the bed, joint bobbing between his lips. “Which means that they make the world move. Transport, storage, inventory, supply chains. If you need it to get something from here to there, they do it, not to mention all the shell corporations they have in registered in dozens of different industries. Started in the 50s by vets who thought it'd be a good idea to use their Asian and US military connections to start a business. Their profit are in the billions so." He shrugs. Just because he never got rich living in the underbelly of the world, doesn't mean there isn't a killing to be made. "Global headquarters moved from San Francisco to LA during Vietnam but they’ve got offices in pretty much every gateway in the world. I mean, New York, London, Shanghai, Jakarta, Dubai, Mumbai, Lagos, Singapore, Sydney, Manila, Busan, and a few other places, not to mention all their small holdings. They supposedly make most of their money is shipping based which is true.” Billy purses his lips and inhales deeply. He holds the smoke in his lungs for a long, long time letting the plant test fill his mouth. He clenches his teeth around the tip and exhales a plume of white smoke into the air. This motel isn’t nice enough to have non-smoking rooms. “Which is a pretty way to describe what they do.”

"Which is...human trafficking?"

"It's anything, Goody. If it's big and there's no legal way to do it, Northern Pacific's the ones who makes it happen." 

"That's like saying the post office is in charge of the black tar heroin trade, Billy," Goody says, horrified..

He takes another puff, thinking about how much of his life have been in public libraries, hotel business centers, Starbucks with wifi hotspots, and and before the internet really got rolling - trolling through paper archives in public records buildings and standing around UPS stores for faxes. After that there all the times he couldn't go home because he had found someone who knew someone who knew something about one of _them_ that he had to track down in person and the thread unraveled a bit more only for him to have to start again. He gave up his youth, his body, and pretty much any peace of mind he could have scraped together to find these answers. He gave up Goodnight. He can't let it go. 

"More like FedEx being parent company for the Yakuza and the Bratva. They've got enough legitimate interests and pull to hide the fact that they're one of the few organizations that provide the foundation the blackmarket needs to stand on."

Goody is at his feet, legs folded under him like the world’s sloppiest yogi. His elbows are on his knees and he drops his eyes are into his palms. “Fuck.”

And Billy loves him a even more for not hesitating to accept this. Goody has no reason to take what Billy says at face value, it's been half a lifetime after all and Billy's given him no evidence, yet he does. He trusts him. He believes him. He has fucking faith in him. Billy swallows hard before he speaks.

“Mm. I think it’s mostly drugs, which, who gives a fuck, but there are other things too. Weapons. Northern Pacific employs people, lots of people, from before.” He takes a deep breath. “And I saw a shipment in LA come in from Cambodia, Goody. A big shipment.” He takes the joint between his fingers and looks down at the slowly burning cherry, remembering the beginning, when this had changed from revenge on the men whose faces he knew to a fucking crusade. “Those kids were younger than I was when I got here. I followed them to where they were being held and called in an anonymous tip, but-” He stops. 

They’d been so young. So fucking young. He’d been old enough to understand, at least. Yeon-mi had been nearly an adult, had been taking care of him since they made their way out of Pyongyang, and he could trust her to explain and guide as best she could through the horrors but these kids. Fuck. If he broke into the LA County Sheriff's records, he'd be shocked if any of them turned out to be in their teens.

“This a publicly traded company.” He finishes. That should explain it all. It really should. He feels like it does. This sort of open corruption and ruthless inhumanity was why his parents made them leave Bukhan.

“So murder?” Goody groans into his hands. “You figured murder was the answer.”

“You have a better plan?” Billy asks because who knows. He's still the same Goodnight Robicheaux he knew - smart, good, kind, creative, and dangerous. He has years of experience Billy can't even imagine and he's a fed, after all. If Goody's got an idea, Billy's open to suggestions. 

Goody’s head jerks up at that, eyes wide, appalled. “Yes, Billy. Jesus. You call the cops. You call the FBI. You call ICE to tell them-“

“And tell them what?” Billy demands. “That a company that has more money than most countries is smuggling drugs, people and who knows what else? Weapons was my first guess," and the only one he's been able to gather anything concrete on. "Exotic animals and their parts go for a lot too. So do human organs.”

“Billy.” Goody sounded absolutely heartbroken. “This can’t be the only way.”

“It’s my only way,” Billy says. 

“Your way’s going to get you killed.” The words clearly cause him no end of pain. Billy remembers feeling that, when it first hit him that he was in love with a warrior who was going fight, maybe die, no matter what happened with the rest of the world. He realizes now what Goody must have known then, that feeling shitty about something doesn’t change a fucking thing.

He swallows hard but charges forward because this is Goodnight, his Goodnight, who is sitting, barefoot and listening, instead of dragging him off in cuffs. He can say this. “Then I get killed. These are the people that promised me and my sister a way out of North Korea and turned us into strung out slaves. You don’t know what _they_ did, made us do. You didn’t see what happened to-” 

He cuts himself off mid word. He doesn’t think about what _they_ did to some of the others he and Yeon-mi encountered. The truly unlucky ones. He refused to. He’d start screaming and he didn't know if he'd ever be able to stop. 

“I can’t let you do this.”

“Then you’re going to have to stop me,” Billy says, each word hauling itself painfully out his mouth from his heart, tearing at the back of his throat like shards of glass along way. 

“I left my handcuffs in the car,” Goody replies with a smile.

Billy does not smile back. “I’m never going to let you put me in handcuffs, Marshal. If I go, it’ll be in a bag.”

Goody’s smile falls off his face like a pebble off the edge of a high rise roof. “That’s not funny.”

“No,” Billy agrees.

Goody unfolds himself and moves up the bed to take his hand. “I can’t lose you now I’ve found you again, cher. So, don’t. All right?” He brings Billy’s fingers to his mouth and presses warm, dry lips to the backs of Billy’s fingers. “Don’t do that.” Goody kisses his knuckles a bit more wetly. Billy doesn't know if it's a good sign or a bad sign that the contact sends tingles up his arm to his heart and groin given all the variables.

“I’m not going anywhere I can’t walk out of,” Billy says firmly. “For anything.” Not for Goody, or Yeon-mi, or Jin-sung or life itself. He is never going to be caged and trapped again. Death will be so much better.

“I won’t allow it,” Goody declares, dropping his hand to Billy’s forehead. 

Rage roars through Billy like a flash fire on a greasy stove. “You won’t allow-“

“I will not fucking allow it,” Goody repeats even more forcefully, carefully articulating each syllable, eyes lifting to defiantly meet Billy’s. Maybe it’s the weed, but his eyes look like chips of blue ice. They’ve never looked that hard or cold before. “There’s another answer to this beside committing suicide by cop.”

Billy sighs and tugs their tangled hands towards his chest. They fit neatly against his sternum. “Of course, there is. I’m leaving. I should already be gone.” 

He'd heard that the one of shell companies was looking at investing on one of the smaller ports on the Gulf Coast. He'd missed them in Beaumont but he was going to catch them when they signed the papers here in Dallas. They he'd have another name, another face, another check on his list and more leads to move on to the next target.

A stricken determination crosses Goodnight’s face. He is every inch the lawman and exactly like the boy Billy left behind at exactly the same time as he says, “I just got you back so you’re not supposed to be leaving me like this again. ”

Billy’s heart twists and he can’t help the fondness that rushes through him. This man. This fucking man who saw him as he was and wanted him to stay, wanted to keep him. “That so?”

“According to the esteemed Khalil Gibran, I do believe it is, yes. Doesn’t matter how it happened. We came back to each other, you came back to me, and I want to keep you this time, Billy Rocks.” He reaches over with his other hand and cups Billy’s face with his large left palm. The pad of his thumb strokes over his cheekbone, then his eyebrow. “Let me figure out how.”

Blinking, Billy clenches his molars together and fights back a the way the scrape in his throat threatened to turn to tears. He forced himself not to because Goody’d shed enough tears for both of them tonight. 

“I don’t think you can.” 

“Let me try. Billy.” He leans over and presses a kiss to his mouth, soft and sweet. “Billy I- We- We’ll figure this out. If Northern Pacific are _them_ then we can figure something out. I know it. God.” He drops his forehead against Billy’s. “This can’t be the end of our story can it?”

Billy’s doesn’t know. Going against Northern Pacific is probably going to get him killed and he thinks he can accept that. His story’s a dramatic one, full of pain and blood and filth and death. High points haven't been as common for him as they are for others maybe, but he got to see his sister become a US citizen and be an active part of his nephew's life and Goody. There was the time when he'd had Goody. Finding himself in that stunning burn of falling into each other with a frantic desire, and a kind of terrified joy that Billy thought had been beaten to death inside him before it ever had a chance to grow had given him hope for himself as a person. Knitting together the pieces required to build an infatuation into a relationship that had given him a sense of safety, connection and blessedly fucking _contentment_ that been able to imagine hoping for his future. If he can squeeze some more love that into the story of his life before it ends, that wouldn’t be so bad, would it? 

“I don’t know, Goody,” He says, rubbing the side of his nose against Goody’s. He wraps the arm still holding his now-dead joint around Goody’s back and tugs him closer. “We’ll have to see.” 

Goody kisses him, sloppy this time, with intent. Billy kisses him back, his soldier, his love, the bright spot he built on when he was at one of so many kinds of lows, and tries, really tries, to have hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes:**
> 
>   * Details about Northern Pacific Multinational Incorporated and how it works and why are pretty much made up from a mix of reality and fiction but most important - it's named after the railroad that put that warrant out on Billy. Fuck those guys. So, origins and research. Reality first? Sure! 
>   * A big part of this is based on the international logistics company DHL which does pretty much what Billy describes and are as far as I know are a normal, above-board-for-a-corporation company but ya never know. But they're based in Europe and I didn't see a reason to drag them into it when I could give FedEx and the US Postal Service shit :P 
>   * The second fact-based component that the NPMI background is going to be grounded in the the Johnny Gosch kidnapping and the accusations of a massive child sex trafficking ring involving rich and powerful men surrounding it. Johnny Gosch was taken off the street in broad daylight by a guy in a van in the early 80s and was the first kid whose face was ever on a milk carton. The "get in the van" jokes? Probably based on him which is fucking horrific because his mom spent the next, eh, 30 years struggling to get first the local police, then the FBI to do literally anything about it and - if his mom is correct - later found out that Johnny had been kidnapped to, essentially, meet a customer request from a sex slavery ring that dragged kids around the US and Canada to men who could afford it. There's a lot involved in the Franklin child prostitution allegations and the Gorsch kidnapping. It seems so far out as to be impossible but there's reasons to believe too. So while I'm not saying it happened, there's also enough evidence to make a case for the **possibility** of the existence of a crime ring that literally dragged minors around the country selling them to men really high up in the halls of American power, especially with the rings busted up in Europe recently. If that level of organization is remotely possible over decades, something like NPMI doesn't seem like such a stretch. I hope it wasn't real, and if it was, I hope it's over. If you're curious, start at the unbelievably amazing episode of the [Sword and Scale podcast](http://swordandscale.com/sword-and-scale-episode-5/%22), move on to [Who Took Johnny](https://www.netflix.com/title/80057280) on Netflix, and try not to fall too deep into this rabbit hole. 
>   * Everything else will be or has been stolen, borrowed, or copied from the playbook of the character Raymond "Red" Reddington on the really awesome, culturally literate, feminist as fuck, James Spader-chewing-the-scenery-filled show The Blacklist because Jon Bokenkamp is smarter than me and better at crime. Seriously, NBC, don't fire him I fear for our national security if he stops having a show to run. Actually the weather in DC being what it is lately... You know what NBC? Ignore me. I'm sure you'll do what's best.
>   * I am not going to talk much about why I used Cambodia as the source of NPMI's victims as it breaks my heart. The short answer is that child sex tourism is a thing but the first countries that spring to mind(Thailand, Vietnam, the Phillipines) are actually working internationally with [ECPAT](http://www.ecpat.org/) to try and curb that shit. Cambodia isn't. Also, while people in SE Asia live at various economic levels just like everywhere else, the destitute are exploited into slavery at an alarming rate. Yall can do the math.
>   * Billy smokes weed because of course he does. *tips hat to whoever did the opium cigarette first* Villa? Hazel? Was it one of yall? IDK but whoever came up with that is a genius however this is the 21st century. Tou cant pick up your opiates in smokable form at the pharmacists and Billy doesn't have health insurance anyway. I imagine he loads up on gas in states with dispensaries, has fake cards for medical states and then in places like Texas it's a long involved process that involves waiting around in more than his share of McDonald's parking lots. His life is so hard, yall.
>   * We've all heard at least one version of "f you love something let it go' and its been attributed to a few different places. Khalil Ghibran's version is the best version because I'm pretty sure he coined it and he was great and also the way he put it was great: **"If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. If they don't, they never were. "**.
>   * *covers face with hands* Questions his motives. Oh my god I'm so sorry I just love puns.
> 

> 
> If you're still reading this, wow. That was some dark shit in there right? I kinda can't believe I did that to be honest /o\ :D Thanks sticking with me. 
> 
> Comments are always welcome and encouraged as they keep me going and feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](http://www.dancinbutterfly.tumblr.com) I l<3 IMs and anon ask is on.


	4. Warnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story gets really dark so hear are the warnings for everything in the story that could be triggering. It could be spoilery so read only with your self-care in mind but know that it could blow some surprises.
> 
> Onward!

This story contains or will contain the following:

* * *

  
**Allusions or references to**

  * Human trafficking of adults and minors 
  * Forced prostitution adults and minors 
  * Sexual abuse of adults and minors 
  * Rape 
  * Violence against minors 
  * Child abuse in general 
  * Forced illicit drug use 
  * Living in a fascist dictatorship 
  * Prostitution 
  * Homelessness 
  * Transience
  * Violence 
  * Revenge killings 



**There are explicit scenes and mentions of**

  * Recreational drug use 
  * An extreme negative reaction after consensual sex (it is resolved) Consensual prostitution/exchange of sex for favors 
  * Casual and institutional racism 
  * Mild (justified) paranoid behavior 
  * Self-medicating with recreational substances
  * Guest appearance from a Justified character.



**Chapter 2 Exclusive Warnings**

  * Graphic descriptions of an incident rape/forced prostition Billy experienced as a young teen (he was very much underage and while he did not fight back it was very much non-consensual)
  * Explicit racism (including american history and slurs)
  * Boyd Crowder
  * Prostitution



  
This list may be expanded as chapter are added. Got some questions? Hit me up on tumblr and I'll be happy to talk to you about whatever you need to know to read this in a way that is safe for you. If you're still here? Wow. ILU lots. <3

**Author's Note:**

>   * Sex trafficking in the entirety of the Western World is not people in cages or locked rooms. It's manipulative traffickers getting their victims so scared, loyal, high/addicted, and/ore mentally and emotionally trapped they don't even try to leave, especially since victims can't go to the police without being arrested for solicitation in the US anywhere but Nevada.
>   * At this point in time, people who are trafficked get "clients" (used loosely because its not like they make money) through the internet or by walking the streets. Since Billy and Yeon-mi were definitely not allowed to troll the red light district in the 80s when they were prisoners, things would have been arranged differently because the lack of internet requires a whole lot more planning and organizing(no idea how to be honest) but I'm pretty sure that in terms of methods and location tactics I'm pretty certain the basics would be the same likely, the set-up wise.
>   * Atlanta is one of the largest, if not very biggest, hubs of sex trafficking in the US. Since I'm in the area, I've had a chance to learn about it from APD through my area of study on top of all the research I've done independently. What I've learned is most arrests are made when known girls are busted at the airport or are tricks arranged online by johns who have no idea the prostitutes don't have a choice are caught in regular hotel and motel rooms. You may even know someone in that situation. Educate yourself if you can, keep an eye out because the next time you're on a vacation, the girl in the next room may be in a bad situation and while you can't save them, you might be able to report suspicious activity, which is better than nothing
>   * I have been reliably informed that the term that South Koreans and North Korean escaped defectors use for North Korea is Bukhan.
>   * With the exception of Billy, all Northern Korean defectors in this story are named in honor of real life defectors([Park Yeon-mi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Park_Yeon-mi) and [Jang Jin-sung](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jang_Jin-sung) which is technically a pseudonym). If you can, read their stories, listen to their speeches, learn from their experiences. We need to know about the working of fascist regimes so we can remain vigilant and fight back. 
> 



End file.
